Compromised
by MadameAngel
Summary: You were meant to have "emotionally compromised" Commander Spock. You succeeded.


You were meant to have "emotionally compromised" Commander Spock. You never expected this.

"_You will answer me."_

And you had wanted to. _Ohhhh _how you wanted to. But Spock wasn't even talking to you and you had a mission to complete. Even so, you couldn't resist taking a few more steps toward him, pulling his attention away from Scott and focusing it back onto you.

"_Step away from me, Mr. Kirk_."

It was meant as a warning, not a challenge. But antagonizing Spock had been so _damn_ rewarding. You knew how far you had to push him, you knew how dangerous it might be, but you could not, no matter how hard you tried, look away from those black eyes burning like acid into your skull. The rush of adrenaline, of desire, when his fist finally made contact with your face was unlike anything you'd experienced in years.

You never told anyone what happened next, what you felt.

It was really none of their business, you reasoned. When Spock curled his burning fingers around your throat, as you gasped for life, you felt it. Harder, more impressive than anyone you had encountered before, Spock's erection pressed into your hipbone.

_That_ was the real reason why he had almost been unable to stop, unable to release you. Somewhere, beneath all the emotional turmoil and despair, Spock _wanted_ this. He needed control, needed to wield it like a weapon over you.

And it had been _so long…_ So long since you had been owned, controlled. You had forgotten how much it excited you, how much you craved it.

It's been several months now since that particular incident, but you still can't stop thinking about it. Even when you're on duty, you catch yourself watching Spock, replaying it in your mind. More than once you've had to excuse yourself from the bridge and rush to your quarters, bringing yourself to a weak orgasm to relieve some of the tension. But it never lasts long enough.

You thought it would be weirder now that you're his superior officer instead of the other way around, but that seems not to matter so much. All he has to do is look at you and you feel the scarlet blush spread across your cheeks and have to look away. But you know he sees you, and you can't help running your hand over your neck, knowing no one else will notice but _he_ will remember.

One such time, after you've finished your little taunting-Spock ritual, you look back up at him instead of pretending nothing happened. His dark eyes are watching you, burning black holes even in the bright, artificial lighting. Recklessly, you wonder how far you can push him here, on the bridge, in front of everyone. So you glare challengingly at him, and the tips of his ears flush a delicious emerald.

"Mr. Spock," you say in your sternest Captain voice, "I need to see that report you mentioned this morning."

"I was under the impression you did not need it until tomorrow, Captain," he says. You're pretty sure no one else can hear the Herculean effort it takes him to keep his voice calm.

"_Now_, Mr. Spock. That's an order." If there's one thing you know, it's that he will absolutely _hate_ being ordered around, especially by you. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought, and his sharp eyes don't fail to notice. Stiffly, he brings you his data PADD. You barely glance at the report, knowing this will only aggravate him further.

"Satisfactory, Mr. Spock."

Through clenched teeth, he answers, "Thank you, Captain," and you know it's killing him to submit to you. In a whisper, he asks "May I be excused from the bridge for the remainder of the day? I do not feel well." He's looking into your eyes now, so he can watch as you look him up and down, slowly, taking in every inch of him with your eyes. The very slight tenting of the front of his trousers is not lost on you, and you raise an eyebrow in interest as you look back up at him.

"No, Mr. Spock," you say with relish, "You will finish your shift and you may be excused at the end of the day." Then you turn your back on him and leave the bridge as fast as you can.

You hurry through the corridor to your quarters, praying no one saw the violent erection straining against the front of your uniform. Damn these regulation trousers, couldn't they be just a bit looser? No doubt some sexed-up bisexual fashion guy had designed the Starfleet uniforms. Come on, tight pants _and_ tiny skirts? Not that you're complaining, of course.

Before you make it to the safety of your room, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. Quick, harsh footsteps. You just have time to turn around before Spock is upon you, throwing you against the wall in the (thankfully deserted) corridor. A delightful surge of adrenaline floods your body, leaving you lightheaded. Spock's face, darkened by lust, fills your vision as he bears down on you.

"How dare you," he growls, his impossibly low voice rumbling in the cavity of your chest.

"How dare I _what_," you shoot back. "I am your Captain, Mr. Spock, and will be treated with respect."

"Like fuck you will," Spock says, and you don't even have time to marvel about the fact that he just _swore_ before he is shoving you toward the door to your room. The lights don't come up when you enter, which is weird until you remember you forgot to set the time this morning because you woke up late. Spock follows you, locking the door with an override code so complicated you know the crew won't be able to figure it out for at least a few hours _after_ they realize the two of you have been missing for a few hours already.

Good.

Spock turns to you, and you find yourself unable to move. His eyes are black as they were that day on the bridge, smoldering as he approaches you. You drop your gaze, submissive instinct taking over.

"How dare you," he says again, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "You know exactly how your repulsive actions have affected me, you filthy Human."

He has to be new to this, you think. He may not be quite aware of just how much he wants to control you. But you know exactly how to help him along.

"Yes, Commander," you say meekly. An almost-inaudible groan echoes from his throat, and you cannot help but smile. Then he is upon you, his teeth bruising against your lips as he assaults your mouth, his hands tearing at fistfuls of your hair, arching your neck so far backwards it's almost painful. Almost. You open your mouth to him and he bites down on your bottom lip so hard you bleed. You swipe your own tongue through the crimson liquid and slide it into his mouth. At the taste of your blood, he is undone.

A primal growl, so fierce it is almost a scream, rips itself from his throat, as he all but throws you onto the bed. But you stand up almost immediately, knowing he will enjoy this far more if he has to fight you for it. He punches you in the face, pain and purple bruises blossoming across your cheekbone, but you fix him with a steely glare. He hits you again, and this time you go down on your knees before him.

His erection is straining gloriously against his trousers just before your face, and you think, "To hell with it," and unzip them, gently coaxing his swollen cock into your waiting mouth. You're a bit out of practice, but Spock doesn't seem to mind. His long fingers twist in your hair, pulling sharply so you have no choice but to release him.

You blink up at him innocently, waiting for him to tell you to stop, but he cannot. After a few seconds of noiseless mouthing, he pushes your head back down and your lips seal themselves once again around his shaft.

His fingernails against your scalp spur you onward and you lavish him with your tongue. Before long, you feel his body tense with his impending orgasm. As much as you would love to have him finish in your mouth, you pull away. Furiously, he pulls you to your feet by the hair, and a cry of pain escapes your lips. He glares at you, too far gone to enjoy being denied release. A cruel smile twists your mouth and you push him back a foot or so.

Never looking away from his face, you pull your shirt over your head, then sit down on the edge of the bed to remove your boots and socks. Spock swallows thickly as you unzip your own trousers and push them down your legs.

You lie down on the bed, your legs spread wide and your erection standing proud and begging for attention. Spock looks like a starving man seeing a feast for the first time – unbearably hungry and unsure how to begin.

"Do whatever you want, _Commander_," you say, taking your own erection in hand and stroking yourself gently. He seizes your wrist and pulls your hand away, holding both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head. He doesn't smile, but his eyes are cruelly mocking as he looks you over. You writhe on the bed, certain you can feel his gaze against your skin. With his free hand, he reaches down and takes hold of his own cock.

You begin to salivate as you watch him pleasure himself, his long, pale fingers gliding smoothly over the shaft swollen dark green with blood. A low groan escapes his mouth as his fingers tighten.

"God, Spock, fuck me." You wrench one of your hands free and grab his wrist, bringing his first two fingers into your mouth. You can taste his pre-come on his fingers, saltier and more bitter than a Human's. You suck deliciously on his fingers, enjoying the way his eyes roll back in pleasure at the feel of your tongue. You slide his fingers out of your mouth with a wet, sinful sound and position them against your entrance. Bringing your legs up, you press back against his hand, hissing as his fingers penetrate you. It burns so _good_.

After only a few seconds of this, Spock pulls his fingers back out and positions the head of his cock against your opening. With one swift thrust he is inside you, stretching you further than you've ever been stretched before. The pain is excruciating as he presses in even further, but then he nudges your prostate and you see stars.

"Fuck me, Commander," you whisper, and he begins to move. Faster and faster, each thrust bringing his dick against that sweet spot inside of you, He silences your screams with his mouth, ravaging your lips and tongue with his teeth as he fucks you so hard the mattress slides around on the bed frame. One of his long hands finds its way to your throat and he wraps his fingers around your neck, cutting off your supply of oxygen. Your orgasm bears down like a freight train as your vision begins to go fuzzy. Your muscles clench around him as you come, and he releases your windpipe as his own orgasm rips through him. Your vision goes white as he comes inside you with a guttural moan.

You were meant to have "emotionally compromised" Commander Spock. You succeeded.


End file.
